"Forgive me, Miss Farwell, but it is too good to be true. I can't say any more now. You are needed here—you cannot know how badly. I—we all need you." She gently released her hand, and he continued in a more matter-of-fact tone, "I will go now to make a call or two so that I can be with you later. Your patient will be all right for at least three hours. I'll send Uncle George with your breakfast."
"Never mind the breakfast," she said. "If you will have your man bring these things, I will get along nicely." She handed him a prescription blank. "Here is a list that Mrs. Strong will give him from my room. And here—" she gave him another blank, "is a list he may get at the grocery. And here—" she handed him the third blank, "is a list he may get at some dry goods store. I have not my purse with me so he will need to bring the bills. The merchants will know him of course—" Dr. Harry looked from the slips in his hand to the young woman.
"You must not do that, Miss Farwell. Really—"
She interrupted, "Doctor, this is my case, you know."
"It was mine first," he answered grimly.
"But Doctor—"
"Shall I send you my bill, too?" he asked.
A few moments later she heard the quick step of big Jim and the rattle of the wheels.
Two hours had passed when in response to a low knock, the nurse opened the door to find Dr. Oldham standing in the narrow hall. The old physician was breathing heavily from his effort in climbing the rickety stairs. His arms were full of roses.
Miss Farwell exclaimed with delight, "Oh Doctor, just what I was wishing for!"